I recited Tagore to you at bedtime.
               Tales of flower buds and fishermen,
               Boat crossings on an ocean of milk. 

[You settle in your sleep.]

Your earrings rest near the humming lamp. 
Shape of West Bengal, after division. 

I intoned to you words and stories.
               Filled your chest with combinations,
               The spell-soft caress of dimness,
               The breath inside your breath.

A physical geography of the Purānas
Details the landscape of your person.

[You the product of sages.]

O Gopi—cowherd of my sorrows,
Your maya is the veil. Play flute noises,
Confide to me in ciphers.


Image by Quang Le from Pixabay

Anvesh Jain

Anvesh Jain is an undergraduate student of International Relations at the University of Toronto. His work has previously been published in the Literary Review of Canada, Adelaide Magazine, the London Reader, Kairos literary magazine, and Vayavya. He is currently an Associate Editor at the Hart House Review.